


DysGraceland

by Spackled



Category: Elvis Presley - Fandom, Graceland
Genre: Elvis - Freeform, Elvis Presley - Freeform, F/M, Graceland - Freeform, the king - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spackled/pseuds/Spackled
Summary: The King died long ago, more's the pity
Relationships: Elvis Presley/Original Female Character(s), Elvis/ Priscilla Presley





	DysGraceland

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken a few liberties with the physical environment to make the story work. Please excuse.  
> This is about the choices we make in life, how they can kill what's inside or outside of us, it's about wild nature, appearances, and the essence of success.

Even though it was still early in the morning as I pulled into the Graceland Shopping Plaza, it was already hot. The cicadas were clicking in the trees, and the tarmac was starting to shimmer with heat haze.  
We were there to buy souvenirs - it turns out my grand-daughter is a big Elvis fan. Kinda ironic.

  
Inside the multi-million dollar shopping complex, my daughter turned to me as she examined a pair of chunky golden Elvis sunglasses. I could see she was gripped by a familiar mixture of attraction and horror.  
“So,” she said, suddenly putting the sunglasses down gingerly like they might come alive, crawl up her arm and face-clamp asphyxiate her, “I was looking at the old photographs. It’s certainly changed a lot around here since 1973.”

  
She tipped her head to indicate the consumer palace surrounding us, and I nodded wryly in agreement.

  
From where I was standing I couldn’t even see the trees I loved so dearly – the Southern Magnolias, American Elms and Willow Oaks which had grown so large since I last saw them – only piles of gaudy memorabilia and printed t-shirts, a festival of branding and repeating images which was building an urgent sense inside me that I had to escape as quickly as possible.

  
“Yeah, it’s freaking me out.” I indicated the heaped merchandise displays. “Is there something she’ll like? Let’s get out of here.”

  
My daughter grabbed a Blue Hawaii Pop, a framed print, and several special edition vinyl singles, and we hurried through the increasingly crowded checkout and back into the relative calm of the muggy carpark, feeling like we’d run some sort of consumer gauntlet and escaped with our lives.

  
I surveyed the steady stream of overweight tourists converging like bedazzled zombies on the glitzy shopping Mecca and felt a need to high-tail it to our beat up but beautiful old Chevrolet as quick as we could.  
“This isn’t Elvis” I said emphatically as I pulled the driver’s door shut with the satisfyingly solid clunk of old school American engineering.

  
My daughter looked at me quizzically, considering. She’s never asked questions about this before.

  
“What was it like living here? Did you meet him?” She skips a beat, takes in my expression. “You did, didn’t you? You’ve never really said. What was he like?”

  
I looked at her, and realized I wanted to talk to someone about it. In a lot of ways, she was my best friend now. She would understand the most.

  
That night, after dinner, Hank was watching the game on the TV, Betty was asleep in her room, and Peggy and I were outside in the small courtyard of our Air BnB, enjoying a Tom Collins or three in the unrelentingly muggy evening, watching the bats fly overhead in the gloaming. I had Junior Kimbrough’s juke joint blues drowning out the traffic and other human night noises which seemed so out of place now that the cicadas had quietened down and I could see the dark shadows of my beloved trees in the distance. I longed to sit under them again, but with all the development now, this was the closest we could get to Graceland. It didn’t feel the same. If not for the feel of the night air on my skin and the bats flitting over-head I could have been anywhere. I cast my mind back in time, looked over at my beautiful daughter and resolved to share an episode I had kept locked inside me all of these years.

  
Even as I decided to unlock my memories, I could feel something wild unfurling in me – a dancing and a weeping, an ungovernable spirit, a reckless heart, long since quelled, threatening to hijack me once more, ready to say yes to anything. Released from the shadows of my mind, the parallel lives that could have been came leaping and jostling to the forefront for my attention. I felt once more the horrifyingly familiar, long banished sensations attempt an immediate reinstatement in my emotional landscape.

  
It’s hard to explain the sequence – which I travelled repeatedly. It’s like I reduce to a wild thing in the twilight, stripped down to my barest bones, merely a dancing skeleton, animated by moonlight and dreams, followed by the dreaded disintegrating phase, like I’m dissolving into the evening mists, or falling unnoticed through an endless void, gurgling down a howling plug hole.

  
The strength of it, still, frightens me. I grip the arm of my lawn chair and re-cross my legs to ground myself, glance over at Hank’s blue television light spilling onto the grass.

  
Focussing hard, re-grounding, I can feel myself reconfiguring, proud in the here and now, consciously swathed in protective layers of love and choice. I swirl the ice cubes in my glass, absorbed my daughter’s gently curious gaze, sit back in my chair a little and begin my tale.

  
***

  
“Well, as you know, Dad and I lived right at the back of Graceland, from 1971 to 1973, when your Dad was the Manager of the new Graceland supermarket, and you and your brother were just babies – so, what, you were one and he was three when we got here? I ticked it off in my head. Yes, that’s right.

  
Back then, there weren’t many houses around here. At the back, where we were, the Graceland fence was only chain link, and you could see right through, with glimpses of the house and drive through the trees. There were lots of trees and bushes on the fence line - we had three big beautiful ones hanging over the fence, I could hardly get your nappies dry on the line, they shaded half the yard.

  
It was my favourite place out there, under those trees. I used to go sit out there at night when it was hot, when you were all asleep. I’d take my guitar, and I’d play to the critters, have a little sing to the moonlight. There weren’t no other sounds out there then, no-one to complain about the noise - it was beautiful. Actually, back up, at first I slept soundly, never went out there at night. That came later.

  
First of all, what happened was, you kids were both in bed, Dad had fallen asleep in front of the TV as usual – he was working so hard, trying to make good, and he was always tired. It’s real small hours of the morning, but I’m awake, just lying there thinking about nothing, and I hear this low-key weird commotion from out in the back yard. I couldn’t work out what it was. It sounded like people laughing, or hunting, or maybe just spirits shrieking. It was kind of frightening, but also it sounded kind of fun. It sounded like men’s voices and maybe young girls. I couldn’t work out if it was scary or not, so I decide to go outside and check it out.

  
When I got out there I realized it was coming from the grounds of Graceland. So I crept through the shadows of our yard until I was right up against the fence and I could see glimpses inside the grounds, except it’s hard to see much of anything in the dark. So I sat there for a while, just being quiet and then I saw a bunch of people. They were all on something, I don’t know what, and they looked completely off their heads. They’re all only half dressed, some of them hardly at all, and they were doing some sort of hunting game – all these older men hunting down a bunch of almost nude beautiful young girls. When they caught them they were having sex with them, on the ground, against trees, and then the girls would run off again. For a minute I thought it was a horror rape scene, but then I saw the girls bending over, waggling their butts at the men, who would stagger back over to them and rut some more.”

  
My daughter looked at me in disbelief.

  
“True! There were a whole bunch of them, just careening around in the darkness of the grounds, like some sort of Bacchanalian festival. “

  
“Jesus!”

  
“Yep. So I’m just sitting there watching this, I can’t look away, it’s like a spirit visitation, I can’t even work out if I’m really seeing it. And then one of the men starts to sing – quite loudly – and I realise it’s him, it’s Elvis, and he’s real close to the fence by me. And I think, what am I doing here, this needs to stop. So I’m not even thinking – I should have just gone back to bed – but I stand up out of the shadows and I yell out to him. I can’t remember exactly what I said – but something along the lines of what are you doing out here at this time of night, you’re going to wake up my babies.

  
Anyway, they all kind of freaked out that I was there and they all just kind of ran off away into the grounds, and I went back to bed.

  
But a couple of days later, I’m out in the backyard - sitting up the back under the trees playing my guitar while you and your brother are playing in the shade - and I hear this voice behind me. Ma’am, he goes, Excuse me Ma’am. And I look around and he’s there by himself in a gap between the trees, and he’s calling out to me. I could have died. I couldn’t even say anything, my brain was too busy trying to work out what was going on through all the thoughts coming at once – was it really him, yes he was really good looking in daylight, not like the pale, paunchy demon I saw the other night, was my hair all mussy, was that actually him the other night and if so what the hell was he doing, he looked so polite and demure now, why was he here. I was just all confused and overwhelmed.

So I just go, like, "Hello?"

  
And he says I just wanted to stop by and say sorry about the noise the other night. I had a few friends over and things got a little out of hand. I didn’t realise we were so close to the boundary. Please accept my apologies Ma’am. It won’t happen again.

  
And I don’t know, I just stammer something out like no problem, I was just out in the moonlight, and he just disappears again.

  
But then a couple of days later he’s back again, and this time he says he likes my guitar playing, what’s that song I’m playing. Well I put my guitar down straight away, but I told him, and he says it’s right pretty, and he likes my playing. Which is insane, because this is Elvis Presley. He’s an icon, larger than life. His early songs (before he got all bloated Las Vegas balladeer) are beautiful.

  
Well, you’re not going to believe this, but he starts coming all the time – every few days when I’m out in the garden he’ll suddenly appear, make some chit chat. We started to be quite friendly. And I’m thinking what’s he doing here, why’s he coming all the way over here to talk to me. He says he’s getting some exercise (which I believe cos he looks like he could do with some). So he’s only ever there for a few minutes – like maybe fifteen minutes - but it’s all the time.

  
We started to have a regular kind of time – I’d get my chores done early, and then bring you two outside to play mid-morning. I’d take a little break, maybe have a play on my guitar and a cold drink under the trees before I made lunch. And every two or three mornings, he’d be there. And this happens over about an entire year. ”

  
“No way. What!? You never told me this!”

  
“I know. So I’m telling you now. “

  
My daughter looks at me scandalized, enthralled. I can see her mind cogs whirring, grinding through a rhapsody of wow. I press on.

  
“Well, we got to talking, mostly about music, a little about raising kids – Lisa Marie was about the same age as you. He doted on her.

I was lonely, trapped at home with you littlies – I never even left the house to do the shopping cos Dad just brought home whatever we needed. I started to really look forward to his visits. It was pretty much the highlight of my existence – apart from playing with you two of course.

  
He was like a mythical beast, just appearing from the forest. And he was coming to see me. Which made no sense.”

  
I pick up my guitar, and softly strum as I continue to speak. *plays Don’t*.

  
“Anyway, I don’t know why, but I never mentioned any of it to your father. I was making up songs in my head during the day as I went about my life, wanting to play them to Elvis. I fantasised about him singing with me. But I never said anything. I just pretended to myself like he was a friendly neighbour.

  
And then one day I realized I was in love with him. Which I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t right. He was married. He wasn’t even all that attractive – kind of run to fat, dressed in hideous velour tracksuits with over-sized belts and medallion necklaces – this while I’m in my natural fibres and sandals phase haha- not to mention I saw him that one night in full satyr mode, and I know he’s married, and what’s he doing low key romancing me every day like a dirty dog. Even his music these days is no good – he’s lost the feel, and he can’t dance like he used to any more, and his movies are pretty bad, and his Memphis mafia mates are awful, I wouldn’t want to share a lift with them. So how come I’ve got these feelings for him?”

  
My daughter looks at me like well der, and just says “He’s Elvis!”

  
“I know, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve got you two, and I’ve got your Dad. We love each other. But the problem is, I’m bored. Your Dad was coming home every night exhausted, he’d eat dinner and fall asleep on the couch. We were hardly a proper couple any more – hardly ever shared a bed. And I was young, and I felt like my life was slipping away from me in an endless stream of nothing ever gonna happen to me again, like I’d fade away to oblivion - like the towels baking in the sun on the washing line.So it’s weird, cos my heart and my body are in love with him, and my head totally isn’t.” *Changes to Can’t Help Falling in Love*

  
My daughter looks at me like she’s a big question mark. I try to explain.

  
“I’ve seen his Manager, it’s like he controls him, tells him when he can breathe, and he’s apparently got a pet Doctor who keeps him drugged up all the time. Sometimes I can’t even talk to him cos he’s all jazzed up on pills and he doesn’t even make sense. Sometimes I think he doesn’t even know how to think by himself, he’s just doing what everyone tells him except when it comes to drugs and sex and food. He’s an out of control beast, he’s a disaster, he’s unattractive – but at 10am every day I look at the clock hopefully, and I’m out in the garden waiting, wanting to see him more than anything. When I hear his footsteps through the bushes my heart jumps into my throat, my stomach does flip flops. And he’s there blushing and grinning at the ground and pushing his big toe into the dirt like he’s shy, and I think he’s in love with me too.” *plays All Shook Up*

  
“What!?”

  
“I know. It’s insane. Listen.

  
So he starts staying longer, and coming more frequently. He starts singing me songs – I play guitar, and he sings along, just standards and little ditties. Nothing big, nothing original. But when he does, I can see the kid in him. The polite country boy. Not this shambling, bloated, not coping celebrity. The sweetness, the hotness, the rhythm of him. And I can’t breathe for thinking about him, for wanting him”. *Changes to Burning Love*

  
“Mum!”

  
“It's Elvis, Pegs. Can you imagine?”

  
“Oh my God.” She glances at the light spilling from Dad’s TV. The sound of his snoring wafts gently through the window.

  
“And then he gradually starts mentioning his wife, and his marriage troubles. Well, I’m thinking to myself, it’s hardly surprising. Is she asleep in their mansion while he’s chasing teenagers around in the grounds at 4am? How long has this been going on. I suspect she knows and turns a blind eye to it all. It’s hard for me to be sympathetic, cos she seems monstrous to me. All surface beauty and aspiration. A commodity, not a human. Trading off everything that makes a relationship beautiful so long as she has pretty dresses and a mansion to live in. No wonder the King has lost his soul.

  
But they’re stuck together because he loves his daughter. He lives for her.

  
And so I get scared, and I tell him he can’t come any more, but he doesn’t listen, he keeps coming. *changes to Are You Lonesome Tonight. Pegs joins in briefly, singing*. And he says he’s going to break up with Priscilla, she’s controlling and abusive, but he’s scared she’ll keep him away from Lisa Marie, and he doesn’t know how to get away.” *changes to Hard Headed Woman*

  
This is the bit where I don’t know if I can do it. Can I really be honest about this? To my daughter? Should I?

  
“Well, the thing is, we almost didn’t make it Pegs.”

  
“Who didn’t? What do you mean?”

  
“Me and Dad. *I change to I’ve Lost You*

  
One morning the King rocks up and he says to me, meet me tonight. And I know what he’s suggesting. And I agonise about it for days, putting him off, and then I go to your Dad and I tell him.

  
And he just looks at me like I’ve removed his guts with a fish knife, and he just folds up into himself and says as you wish. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll love you no matter what. I can’t compete with the King. And then he never touches me again. Just mutters at the TV every night, does the chores, just the facts mam. Whenever the name Elvis comes up I can hear him muttering insults – like bloated old sex goblin – but he never says anything. Just looks at me like he’s on the other side of the Grand Canyon, a world of dead-eyed pain away. And he sleeps on the sofa every night.

  
So this goes on for months, and I’m dying inside, and then one night I agree to meet the King. And I get all dressed up for him. I’d been saving up out of the milk money for months and I bought myself a new outfit I thought he’d like - kinda trashy but cute, kinda sexy. And I’m out there by the fence at 2 in the morning, and it’s cold, and I wait for ages, and he doesn’t come. *now I’m strumming softly, Always on My Mind*

And he comes by the next day and says he’s sorry, he was sick, and he tells me he loves me. But there’s always this chain link fence between us. And he can never be seen with me in public because of his wife situation, and what would the public think. And I see them together on the TV, in the papers, and they clearly love each other, no matter what he says to me. And I know he’s seeing other people as well, because sometimes I can see the lights and hear the brat pack howling late at night if I come out into the garden. Which I have taken to doing, cos now I can’t sleep because I feel like I’m being ripped in two, between the two realities on both sides of the fence.”

  
My daughter is looking at me aghast. She reaches for her drink and takes a heavy slug. I press on, undaunted.

  
“And I don’t even want to go over the fence to where he is. I like it better on my side, where things are wholesome and fun and healthy. We’ve got love and laughter and good times, it’s better than drugs and deep-fried peanut butter sandwiches and orgies with strangers. And whatever he’s feeling - that’s not love. He thinks he’s in love, but I don’t think he knows what it means. I’m just another peanut butter sandwich to him. Something he has to have. It doesn’t occur to him that he can’t automatically have me. He thinks I will love him unquestioningly, like a fan. But I’m not a fan. I’m a real woman. It’s not a one-way street.

  
And he’s talking to me like he assumes I want to be his new queen of the castle, like everyone wants that. And I’m thinking to myself, no, I want to bring you back to yourself, you don’t have to lose Lisa Marie, we can make room for everyone, create a new life, a life with soul and grace, not just a big empty pile of impressive bricks and fancy décor.”

  
And now my daughter is looking at me with horror, the near miss alternate reality impinging on her consciousness. I can see her indignation rising. She loves her father, and even by telling her this I have enacted a deep betrayal. She is hurt and looking at me like she can’t believe that I am actually a demon, all this time.

  
“So what did you do!?” She is already scandalized.

  
“Nothing. I realized that it was never going to happen. He was too far gone. He couldn’t imagine any other life except the dysfunctional one he’d already entombed himself in. And I realized that I’d never be able to integrate with the life he’d built for himself. I couldn’t imagine having to cooperate with an angry Priscilla – what a nightmare. He was never going to free himself from his dependencies and his failings. He saw them as intrinsic to the success that he’d built for himself – he didn’t have the capacity to reimagine his future.”

  
“So what happened!?”

  
“Dad and I patched it up and we moved away. I didn’t even tell Elvis I was going. There wasn’t any point. Dad got a promotion to head office, and we just packed up one day and left. Elvis might have seen the moving truck, but he never said anything. He didn’t come past and say goodbye. Pretended like he didn’t know me right to the last. Never did come past that chainlink fence. Then the next year he’s separated from Priscilla, and then four year later he’s dead on the toilet.” I don't let on how I feel about this. Some things are too much to share.

  
“Whoa.” She skips a beat, thinks about it.

  
“So Dad knows all about it?”

  
“Yes. Dad and I talk about everything. We love each other.”

  
“You’re a complete freak Mum.”

  
I grinned. “Yes, we know that.”

  
Overhead, the moon peeks out from the clouds and bathes the courtyard garden in a pale halide glow. I put the guitar down and stand up, gathering our things to go inside. I’m feeling a bit untethered from remembering this surreal episode.

  
“Come on darling, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold. “

  
I go inside and kiss Hank on the shoulder, rouse him gently and suggest he should come to bed.

  
Peggy stands still for a moment before she comes in, staring towards the tall dark trees in the distance. The rotating pink glow from the neon sign of the hotel next door bathes her face. She emotionally recalibrates her daughter’s Elvis obsession, feeling very weird. The tinny squeak of their neighbours’ entrance foyer muzak can now be heard floating through the evening. Predictably enough, she recognizes the tune - it’s Heartbreak Hotel.

  
She enters the living room as her parents prop each other sleepily through the door to their bedroom. Her mother mouths goodnight and blows her a kiss, which she returns.  
She pulls the door firmly against the wild night behind her, shutting the golden light of their family unit safely inside.


End file.
